


Oath

by LdotRage



Series: EliHec Week 2019 [1]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Rekka no Ken | Fire Emblem: Blazing Sword
Genre: Blood, Canon Compliant, EliHec week 2019, Fluff, Friendship, Knives, M/M, Minor Injuries, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Self-Harm, but it's not actual self-harm, it might trigger some people so I'm tagging it, romance is just implied 'cause they're kids, tagging extensively just in case, they cut their palms and then shake hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2019-12-30 18:31:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18320870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LdotRage/pseuds/LdotRage
Summary: EliHec Week Day 1: Youth/Oath.When Hector meets Eliwood for the first time, he doesn't leave much of an impression. Yet, within the first few hours of meeting each other, they perform the warrior's oath together. Little do they know just how strong their bond will become--and how long that bond will last.





	Oath

**Author's Note:**

> This is GAY  
> but they're KIDS so it's not SUPER GAY quite yet  
> that's the best summary I can come up with  
> also AHHHHHH ELIHEC WEEK IS FINALLY HERE I'M SO HYPED!!!!!

Contrary to popular belief, Hector  _ was  _ actually capable of sitting still. He hated every minute of it, and complete silence was a bit too much to ask―he was still a kid, not a boring old man like Uther. But, when the situation called for it, he could hold himself stiffly for a few hours, so long as he was able to discreetly bounce his leg under the table (a habit which the tutors had never been able to break).

Still, when Uther steered him into a hard wooden chair in an otherwise empty room, his initial reaction was disdain.

“I thought we were going to meet all the other nobles,” Hector whined, trying to clamber back to his feet, but Uther’s hands on his shoulders kept him trapped in his seat. “I can’t meet anyone if I’m stuck in some room!”

His brother’s grip was unwavering.  _ “I _ am going to go prove myself to the other Marquesses,” he hissed into Hector’s ear, squeezing his shoulders almost to the point of being painful.  _ “You _ are going to mingle with the other lords’ children.  _ In here, _ where your complete lack of manners can’t mess anything up.”

Anger simmered hot and heavy in Hector’s chest, and he squirmed in his seat, batting petulantly at Uther’s hands. “Whatever! It’s not like I wanted to see all those stuffy old geezers, anyway!”

_ “Hector!” _

Uther’s fingers tightened even further, and Hector felt his muscles twinge.  _ “Ow!” _

Immediately, Uther released him and took a few steps back, but his stern glare didn’t falter. “Mind what you say,” he ground out through gritted teeth. “You’re not just a lordling anymore―you’re next in line to lead the Lycian League. You can’t continue to act like a child.”

“So I gotta act like a  _ big, stupid idiot  _ instead?”

Uther closed his eyes and gripped the bridge of his nose. “Hector.”

Rubbing his sore shoulders, Hector sullenly sunk into the chair, glaring at the table―even he knew better than to glare at Uther when he took that tone. “This is so stupid,” he muttered under his breath, kicking his feet.

Exhaling sharply through his nose, Uther placed both hands palm-down on the table. After a moment, they both clenched into fists, trembling minutely.

“Hector,” he said again after a long, tense moment. “I don’t ask for much. Just… for one day,  _ please. _ No fights. No insults. No childish games. Just sit still and play nice with the other kids.  _ …Please.” _

At first, Hector didn’t respond, but Uther’s gaze weighed heavily on his shoulders. Finally, he closed his eyes and let out a long, dramatic sigh, sprawling over the back of his chair.

“Okay,  _ fine,  _ geez,” he groaned, religiously avoiding eye contact. “I won’t punch anybody. Satisfied?”

Either Uther was tired of arguing, or his standards had fallen tremendously, because he didn’t push for more. He just let out another soft sigh, then eased back onto his feet, peeling his sweaty hands off of the oaken tabletop. “…Yes, thank you,” he said tersely. “I’m not asking you to be perfect. Just don’t be… intentionally belligerent.”

Hector, who had no idea what “belligerent” meant, just propped his chin up on his palm and grunted in vague acknowledgment.

This, too, Uther was too exhausted to scold him for. He absently straightened his collar, fussed with his hair, fussed with Hector’s hair (which earned him an indignant yelp), then wiped his palms off on his trousers. “Alright,” he said, as much to himself as to Hector, “the other lords should be here within the hour, so just sit tight until then. Food will be served once everyone has arrived―try to eat with  _ some  _ dignity, at least―and, after everyone’s done, you may go into the courtyard outside, as long as you don’t cause any mayhem while you’re―”

Rather abruptly, Uther stopped talking, and Hector heard the footsteps a second later. Yanking his hand away from Hector as if he’d been burned, Uther turned sharply towards the hall, and Hector twisted to look over his shoulder just as a cluster of people rounded the corner into view.

Hector had only seen nobles from the other territories a handful of times, and his memory was bad, but he could still tell from Uther’s suddenly proper posture that these strangers were probably the nobles. Three of them were adults―he recognized Aunt Elodie, of Thria―and another three were kids his age―his cousin Orun peaked out from behind Aunt Elodie’s skirts.

They’d scarcely crossed the threshold before Uther spoke, his voice crisp and even. “Ah―my apologies; we weren’t expecting anyone to arrive this early,” he said, taking a single measured step towards the door. “I hope you weren’t waiting.”

Aunt Elodie waved her hand dismissively, as did another of the adults―a man with a thin red mustache. “Not at all, not at all,” he said. “Don’t fret over it. Your guards and servants were all very welcoming.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Uther said. “It may be another thirty minutes or so before the other Marquesses―”

“Yes, yes, we know,” the third man―some guy with purple hair whose face was already starting to wrinkle―interrupted. He spoke so brusquely and so rudely that even Hector did a double-take, but his face was fixed into a semi-pleasant smile. “The meeting begins at eleven and the oaths will be taken at noon. No need to reiterate.”

Hector had half-expected Uther to scold this geezer for speaking so plainly to the soon-to-be-named Marquess of Ostia, but, if Uther was bothered, he didn’t show it. “Of course,” he said. “My apologies, Marquess Laus.”

For a brief moment, no one spoke, and Hector kicked his feet impatiently beneath the table. Then the red-haired man smiled again, clasping his hands. “Well,” he said lightly, “I heard that our little ones will be mingling in here while we take our oaths?”

“Yes,” Uther said, back straightening even further. “I thought it may inspire friendship between the next generation of rulers.”

"A splendid idea.” The redhead reached for the boy standing beside him―his son, judging by the red hair―and gently nudged him forward. “My son here was rather excited about the whole thing. I’m sure everyone will get along famously. Isn’t that right, Eliwood?”

The red-haired kid―Eliwood―nodded without saying a word, then obediently crossed the room when his father gave him a little shove.

Before anyone else could speak, a brown-haired kid stepped out from behind the purple geezer―Marquess Laus―and bounded up to the table as well. “Yeah! I know we can all unite as one!” he said, his words energetic, but very stilted.

Marquess Laus chuckled. “Wait for your turn to speak, now, lad,” he said indulgently. “Sorry, Lord Uther. Erik here is a bit excitable. Got more energy than I do, most days.”

Personally, Hector thought it was a little late to be acting all polite  _ now, _ but no one else acknowledged the shift in attitude. “You already know little Orun, of course,” Aunt Elodie said, which was Orun’s cue to join Eliwood and Erik at the head of the table, right by Hector’s chair.

Then Uther’s hand clamped down on Hector’s shoulder hard. “This is my brother, Hector,” he said, and nothing else.

Uther’s fingers were digging into his shoulder again, but, because he  _ could _ be nice when he  _ wanted _ to be―and because, when he stole a glance at Uther’s face, he found it stiff and sweaty―Hector didn’t complain. “Yeah, nice to meet you,” he muttered.

Then the brown-haired kid―Elik? No, Erik―stuck his hand out, and, because Hector was the nicest guy around, he bit his tongue and shook Erik’s hand, then Eliwood’s, without a breath of complaint. Eventually, Uther’s grip on his shoulder loosened, which he took to mean that he’d done at least passably well.

Erik immediately plopped down in the seat to Hector’s right, and Orun took the one at his left; Eliwood sat down on Erik’s other side. “Good morning, Hector,” Orun said softly, eyes darting over to the adults as if he might get in trouble for greeting his own cousin.

“Mornin’,” Hector mumbled back. Then― _ look, Uther; I’m being a goddamn saint, just like you wanted _ ―he turned to the brown-haired kid who was practically vibrating in his seat and said, “You’re Erik, right? G’morning.”

“Good morning to you, too!” Erik blurted out almost immediately. “It’s such an honor to meet the future Marquess of Ostia, the capital of our beautiful country!”

Hector shot him an odd look, but made the responsible and polite decision to  _ not _ respond  _ ‘Where did you get that line from, a textbook?’  _ Instead, he just shrugged uncomfortably and muttered, “I mean, sure, if you wanna put it like that.”

For some reason, Erik laughed as if that was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. “Hilarious!” he said aloud.

“...It wasn’t a jo―”

“I’m glad to see that the throne is in the hands of a man with such good humor!”

Hector frowned, unsure whether to be irritated or confused. “...You know I’m not the one being sworn in today, right?” he said slowly.  _ “Uther _ is taking the throne, not―”

Hector looked up at his brother for support, but he stopped short when he realized that Uther and the other Marquesses were already gone, their backs silently vanishing behind the doorway, leaving the four lordlings alone.

“Oh, yes, of  _ course, _ I know  _ that,” _ Erik simpered from beside him, ignoring the adults’ disappearance. “But you’re the next in line, which makes you equally as important, am I right?”

...Was this guy just trying to stroke his ego? If nothing else, Hector was pretty good at recognizing when people were just trying to get on his good side because of his status. He wouldn’t have expected such nonsense from another noble, though. “Look,” he began shortly, his eyebrows furrowing, “I know what you’re―”

Uther’s disapproving face flashed before his eyes like a mirage. Uther’s furrowed brow. Uther’s hand on his shoulder. Uther’s arms stiff at his sides as he tried to preserve his image in front of the other Marquesses.

_ “Just for one day, no fights. No insults. No childish games. Just sit still and play nice with the other kids. Please.” _

Erik tilted his head to the side. “You know what I’m…?”

Hector clenched one fist, then slowly let out a long breath through his nostrils. “...I know what you’re trying to say,” he finished eventually, his teeth not-quite clenched. “And I… couldn’t agree more.”

Immediately, Erik beamed from ear to ear. “Excellent! Oh, but of course you would agree; an Ostian lord like yourself must be always attuned to the relationship between other territories and your own.”

_ What does that even mean? Are you complimenting me or not? Why do you have to talk like that?! _

“Yeah, sure.”

“Of course, all territories must  _ also _ put in effort in order to forge strong bonds between us―”

As Erik prattled on, Hector tried and failed to pay attention at first, then eventually gave up and just let the word vomit wash over him. Luckily, Erik obviously didn’t have anything substantial to say, which meant Hector didn’t actually need to engage in the conversation beyond the occasional “Mm-hmm.”

He’d dealt with plenty of meaningless sweet-talk before; he could put up with this for a while longer.

...And a while longer.

And a while longer.

And a while longer.

And a while―

* * *

 

Hector didn’t start considering the merits of murder until the food had already been served.

Naively, he’d assumed that Erik would have to stop his otherwise ceaseless chatter and flattery when the food came. Hector knew that it was very rude to speak with your mouth full, even if he often did it anyway, and it couldn’t be clearer that Erik was concerned about Hector’s opinion of him.

Sure, that was probably just because his father had told him to keep up appearances―Hector doubted that any boy his age was  _ actually _ this invested in politics or propriety―but, nonetheless, he was bound to the same ridiculous code of ethics as the rest of the nobles. Which meant that he would have to shut up for at least long enough to eat, right?

Wrong.

Apparently, the nobility of Laus didn’t put much emphasis on table manners, because Erik’s were atrocious. He spoke through mouthfuls of food, leaned across the table to shout right into Hector’s ear, propped his elbows up onto the tablecloth, and even wiped his mouth on his sleeve―all things that, according to Uther, were enough to get you thrown out of any noble’s dining room.

And Hector couldn’t even abandon his own table manners, because Erik was the only kid at the table who  _ wasn’t _ being all prim and proper. Everyone else was dabbing daintily at their chins with silk napkins and carefully using the proper size of utensil for each dish, and Hector was certain that Uther would tan his hide if he didn’t follow suit.

So he was stuck with these stupid, pointless rules while  _ Erik _ got to break them all he wanted.

To make matters worse, once the other lordlings had arrived, Orun and the other kid―Eriwood, his name might’ve been?―had stopped trying to participate in the “conversation” between Hector and Erik. All the other lordlings were now talking quietly amongst themselves, leaving Hector to weather the storm all alone.

And Erik just  _ wouldn’t stop talking. _

Which normally wouldn’t be so bad, mind you―not like Hector was particularly quiet―but he only seemed capable of spewing out stupid, pandering garbage. It was all  _ “We must unite our houses in order to inspire peace”  _ and  _ “I have much respect for the heir to such an esteemed territory as Ostia”  _ and  _ “May the bonds between our families outlast us!”  _ and other such mindless chatter. Most of it was so trite as to be completely meaningless.

The other lordlings didn’t seem like they would be much more  _ interesting _ to talk to, but they at least seemed more tolerable. Hector had been desperately trying to get away from Erik for what felt like hours now, but he couldn’t seem to make an escape―every time there was a lull in someone else’s conversation, giving him an opportunity to jump in, Erik immediately started another sentence, cutting him off before he could even try.

He was trapped. And he couldn’t even fall back on his usual bluntness and tell Erik to shut his mouth, because he’d already promised that he wouldn’t tarnish Uther’s good name during this ridiculous conference.

So he was currently glaring at his lamb and contemplating the benefits of snapping Erik in half, rather than actually enjoying the meal that had been prepared for them.

“―create bonds between us, much as our fathers are doing!” Erik was saying now, oblivious to Hector’s utter lack of interest. “Don’t you think so, Hector?”

“Mm-hmm,” Hector muttered, stabbing his salad fork into the side of a baked potato and watching the steam curl out.

“Excellent!” Erik clapped his hands together once. “Shall we do it right now?”

Finally, Hector snapped out of his daze. “Huh?”

“The warrior’s bond!” Erik said enthusiastically, not seeming to mind that Hector obviously hadn’t been paying attention. “We should perform the warrior’s bond together! We should  _ all _ do it!”

Before Hector could ask what that was supposed to mean, Orun cleared his throat. “The… warrior’s bond?” he asked tentatively, eyes flickering between Erik and Hector.

Finally turning away from Erik, Hector glanced across the table and found that the numerous side-conversations were all beginning to fizzle out; now, everyone was either chewing their food or staring at Erik, who visibly preened beneath their attention.

“It’s a ceremony that my father taught me about!” he announced proudly, turning to address the whole table. “Each warrior cuts his palm and shakes hands with his brothers so that they all mix blood! That way, the bond between them is solidified!”

Uneasy murmuring rippled across the table, but, for the first time since he’d been pushed into his seat, Hector felt a twinge of excitement. “They mix blood, you say?” he repeated, sitting up straighter.

“Yes! It’s very exciting!” Erik said, leaning towards Hector again; for once, Hector didn’t mind the close proximity. “Since our fathers are all renewing their vows of loyalty right now, we kids should swear an oath of our own! Don’t you think so?”

Hector grinned. “Hell yeah!” The thought of doing something so adult-like―so brave and manly-sounding―got his blood pumping. And, besides, anything was better than sitting around listening to Erik prattle on for hours. “Let’s do it!”

Another wave of anxiety crashed through the room like a physical force, and the other lordlings began to scoot away, eyeing Erik and Hector warily. Orun cleared his throat and leaned forward, his hands fluttering uncertainly in front of him. “Hector, I don’t know about this―”

Before he could finish, Erik snatched a steak knife off of the table and shot to his feet. “As future lords of Lycia, it is our duty to strengthen the bonds between our territories!” he recited for the umpteenth time, his voice ringing throughout the room, his grin wide and triumphant. Then, as carelessly as you might tear open an envelope, he lifted one palm and sliced it open.

Of course, it wasn’t as clean or quick as parchment being torn; the serrated blade of the knife caught on his skin with a gross, wet noise, and his grip on its hilt fumbled. “Ah―!” he gasped, his entire body jolting, and he dropped the knife. It slid awkwardly across his trembling palm, then hit the ground with a  _ clang. _

There was only a brief moment of silence; then all hell broke loose. Several of the lordlings, including Orun, shrieked and scrambled back; others stood up and rushed to Erik’s side, all of them babbling at once. Their voices all blended together into an incomprehensible cacophony.

Erik, for his part, clutched his wounded hand to his chest, a look of utter disbelief on his face―as if, in his excitement, he had forgotten that cutting your palm with a knife would probably hurt.

Once the shock faded, it was immediately replaced by humiliation. “Sh-shut up!” he snapped, swatting the other lordlings away as they tried to reach for his hand. “I’m fine! It’s fine! J-just leave me alone!”

Some of them backed off, but most of them hovered, a thick wave of panic still bubbling in the air. Hector spared a glance back at the table and found that the rest of the lordlings were looking anywhere but at them; Orun had covered his eyes with both hands, and another kid whose name Hector couldn’t remember was leaning over her plate, frantically stuffing spoon after spoon of food into her mouth and ignoring the rest of the room.

Only one person had neither rushed to Erik’s side nor immediately looked away.

The red-haired kid―Hector was pretty sure his name was Eliwood―was still seated, his teacup frozen in his hands. Instead of averting his eyes, however, he was staring rather pointedly at  _ Hector.  _ When their eyes met, he didn’t look away; he just continued to stare, his expression almost reproachful. As if he was scolding Hector silently, much like Uther did whenever they had company over, so he couldn't scold out loud.

As if any of this was Hector’s fault.

Even though Hector had done  _ everything  _ Uther asked; had played nice with Erik for  _ hours,  _ and it hadn’t even been  _ his idea― _

All at once, the anger that had been building inside of his chest since the beginning finally boiled over, and Hector snapped. Slamming one fist onto the table hard enough to make all the dishes rattle, he shoved himself onto his feet and yanked his own steak knife out of the untouched lamb on his plate.

Then, without breaking eye contact, he brought the knife across his palm with all the conviction he could muster, ignoring the chorus of startled yelps that echoed throughout the room.

He had to admit―it was more difficult to keep a straight face than he’d imagined it would be. The teeth of the knife dug painfully into the meat of his palm, and the pain intensified every time he moved the blade. Still, he refused to give in―he refused to drop the knife; he refused to cry out; he  _ refused _ ―and he managed to make one straight incision across his hand without faltering before he pulled the knife away.

His eyes flickered down to examine the wound for a second―it was longer and deeper than Erik’s, and it began bleeding at once―before he glanced back up at Eliwood. Eliwood’s reproachful expression had given way to wide-eyed surprise, and Hector felt very vindicated. Glaring fiercely, he held up his hand as if to prove his point, though he wasn’t sure what that point was. Blood trickled down his wrist.

Eliwood looked at the wound, and his own hand spasmed. No one spoke.

The silence was short lived. Before anyone else could recover from their surprise, Orun shot to his feet with enough force to send his chair sliding back across the floor, dropping his spoon into his soup with a  _ plink. _

For a brief moment, Hector hoped that his cousin was going to join him. Then Orun clapped a hand over his mouth, squeaked “I―I’m going―th-the courtyard―” and fled the room as quickly as his legs could carry him.

Immediately, several other lordlings abandoned their food and followed him, not even bothering to mumble excuses, and Hector felt something like betrayal bubble angrily within his chest. “Fine! Good riddance!” he snapped, shoving his own chair aside with his uninjured hand. Turning sharply towards Erik, he crossed the distance between them in two short strides and reached for the other lordling's hand.

The sudden movement jarred Hector’s wound, and he winced despite himself, but Erik was the one who yowled and jerked his hand away. “Ow―ow ow ow!” he hissed, staggering back. “Don’t―touch it―!”

At the sight of Hector’s angry snarl, the rest of the lingering lordlings turned tail and fled as well. “Coward!” he shouted in Erik’s face as the door slammed behind them. “This was your idea, and you’re not even man enough to go through with it―!”

_ “Shut up,  _ you―you  _ brute!” _ Erik shouted right back, though his face burned red with embarrassment. “What right have you―to say that I’m―?!”

Again, Hector reached for his hand, and he jerked away again with something like a whimper, retreating until his back hit the wall. A wounded, mortified look crossed his face.

Hector sneered.  _ “Coward.” _

Erik’s body quivered with indignation; then, with a frustrated yell, he turned on his heel and scampered out the door.

Simultaneous waves of relief and fury crashed over Hector. “Craven dastard!” he screamed at Erik’s retreating back. “Ugh!  _ Whatever!  _ I’m better off on my own, anyway, if you’re all this―this  _ stupid! _ You  _ cowards!” _

Of course, there was no reply, because the room was already empty.

Hector’s entire body felt hot and unsteady, but there was no one left to scream at, nothing to swing his fists at, and he seethed silently for a moment, his anger only mounting.

When this little incident got back to Uther, he was so dead.

_ Damn it. _

_ “Ugh!” _ he said again, once it became clear that standing there simmering wasn’t helping anything. With one last growl, he turned back to his seat. If nothing else, he could take advantage of his newfound solitude and finally finish his food―

Hector jumped with a startled, undignified noise.

The table was not, in fact, empty.

It was rather embarrassing that he hadn’t seen Eliwood before now, in fact, because the redhead hadn’t moved an inch. He was just sitting in the chair two down from Hector’s, holding his teacup, and staring silently like some kind of creepy painting.

Caught off-guard―and still fuming―Hector glared icily at him, clenching his uninjured fist around the hilt of the knife. “What do  _ you _ want?” he demanded.

For a long time, there was no answer. Eliwood just stared back at him without saying a word, his eyes occasionally flickering down to Hector’s hands but never breaking his gaze for long. Once again, Hector felt as if he was being judged, in the same way that he felt judged when Uther scrutinized him after a training session or the tutors pursed their lips when he came inside covered in dirt.

Hector stepped forward sharply and slammed his fist against the table; his knuckles stung, his fingers clumsily folded over the knife’s hilt, but it was worth it to see Eliwood startle. “What do you  _ want?” _ Hector snarled again, pretending that his voice wasn’t starting to shake.

Finally, that seemed to jar Eliwood into action. Setting his teacup down on the table, he slowly rose to his feet, pushing his chair in behind him. Hector glared wordlessly, expecting Eliwood to run away like all the other lordlings had, but, instead, the redhead actually turned and walked towards him, his steps slow and steady.

When there was only a breath’s worth of space between them, Eliwood stopped and their eyes met again. The expression on his face was different, this time, but Hector had neither the observational skills to pinpoint the change nor the words to describe it. It was just… different.

A moment passed, silent and tense; then Eliwood held out his hand. “May I see the knife, please?”

Hector realized, only then, that he hadn’t heard Eliwood speak before now. His voice was soft and even, and it came as such a surprise that it took a moment for the words themselves to register in his brain.

Once they did, he scowled―so Mr. Killjoy here was just confiscating his silverware―but, nonetheless, he relinquished the knife without much fuss, holding it out in front of him and turning away to glare over his shoulder. He couldn’t be bothered to fight over it now; he’d just eat with one of the other lordlings’ knives.

Eliwood’s fingers pressed against Hector’s palm when they closed around the knife’s hilt. For some gods-forsaken reason, his hand lingered there for a long moment, skin cool and smooth against Hector’s, which was tacky with sweat.

Hector impulsively jerked his hand back. In his peripheral vision, he saw Eliwood hastily grab the knife before it could fall, clutching it awkwardly for a moment before he could correct his grip.

_ ‘Serves him right for being so weird about it,’ _ Hector thought viciously, even though his palm felt strange and skinless now, the air almost biting at the pink splotches where he’d gripped the knife too tightly.

The silence was oppressive, and Hector grit his teeth. Would this kid just  _ leave _ already? Or was he just going to stare all day, like Hector was some freakshow in a circus? His gaze felt so heavy―so deeply unsettling―and Hector had no idea why. At first, it had seemed like this boy just resembled Uther, but he realized now that it wasn’t quite that. There was just something… strange about him.

Something that compelled Hector to stand here like an idiot and not say anything, rather than just telling Eliwood to screw off.

When Eliwood finally stopped looking at him, Hector could feel it―he could feel the weight of Eliwood’s gaze vanish―and he had to fight not to sigh in relief. Less than two seconds later, when Eliwood still hadn’t left yet, Hector glanced towards him, curiosity getting the better of him.

Eliwood was weighing the knife in his hand, as if he was feeling up a new training weapon. He twisted it around to examine it from different angles, then gingerly tested its sharpness with one finger as Hector watched, bemused. Eventually, he reached over to grab a napkin from the table and carefully wiped Hector’s blood off of the blade.

Once the blade was spotless, he carelessly tossed the napkin aside and tightened his grip on the hilt, running his fingertips across the blade a few more times. Hector frowned. What on earth was he doing? He did know that the servants were going to wash these dishes thoroughly, regardless of whether he wiped them off or not, didn’t he?

Eliwood glanced up at him once more, fleetingly. This time, though, there was a firm resolve in the slight tilt of his eyebrows; a fierce determination in the set of his lips. Hector blinked.

Breaking eye contact, Eliwood looked back down at his hands, head lowering. He took a deep, steadying breath. Then he opened his right hand and carefully pressed the edge of the knife against his palm.

Hector was too surprised to react; he just stiffened, eyes wide and mouth hanging open, as Eliwood slowly pressed the blade down. His hands began to shake after a moment, and he let out a soft, surprised gasp when blood began to well up, but he didn’t drop the knife, nor did he flinch. By the time he pulled the knife away, his movements measured and deliberate, there was a long, thin gash cutting diagonally across his palm.

A breath of silence. They both stared at Eliwood’s cut, which was beginning to bleed more profusely now, though not quite so much as Hector’s had. Then Eliwood let out a breathless, shaky laugh, and Hector’s eyes snapped up to his face.

“It… doesn’t hurt as bad as I thought,” Eliwood said, though his voice still trembled. “But I don’t think this ritual… is supposed to be done with serrated knives.”

Hector just stared for a moment, dazed. “Uh,” he said stupidly. Serrated knives? …A straight edge wouldn’t have hurt as much, would it? “Yeah, I guess not.”

One more pause, much briefer this time; then, with a firm nod, Eliwood raised his head, dropped the knife to his side, and stuck out his injured hand.

Hector blinked, then looked down. By now, a bit of blood was beginning to slide down Eliwood’s palm, and his fingers were still trembling minutely, but he seemed much more… confident than he had before. Much more self-assured. When he looked back up and met Eliwood’s eyes once more, it was like seeing him for the first time.

He was rather pale, almost to the point of looking sickly, but the faint freckles visible on his cheekbones indicated that he had, in fact, seen the sun before. His hair was bright red and longer than Hector’s, though not super long, like Uther’s; just long enough that it looked kind of poofy and disheveled atop his head, even though it’d obviously been brushed recently.

His eyes were blue, like Hector’s, but… a different shade. A lighter blue; closer to the color of the sky or a shallow pond than the color of an Ostian noble’s hair. Actually, his face looked different, too―his jaw seemed more… round? And his nose was kind of curvy and small; nothing like the huge triangle sticking out from Hector’s face.

And he had these round eyes, and his eyebrows were really thin, and his lips weren't thin at all, but it didn’t make him look girly, which was weird. Even though he had big eyes, and his eyebrows weren’t all sharp and bushy, and his mouth was just slightly downturned―the exact opposite of the neutral expression that he and Uther had, which his parents had always said made them look like they were scowling―

Despite all of that, he still managed to look… unyielding. Very firm. Like he wasn’t going to back down, even though he was still shaking a little bit and Hector had been staring him down for way too long.

Speaking of which.

Shaking himself out of his trance, Hector glanced back down at Eliwood’s extended hand one last time, then glanced back up. Something about the certainty on Eliwood’s face was contagious, and he felt his own determination stir once again.

To hell with all this “thinking” crap; Hector reached forward and grabbed Eliwood’s hand.

It hurt. Not terribly, but it hurt. Bending his fingers at all aggravated the wound somewhat, and pressing his own injury against Eliwood’s just made it hurt worse. Hector probably would have just ignored it, though, if Eliwood hadn’t winced, inhaling sharply through his nose.

“Sorry,” Hector said, loosening his grip slightly, and Eliwood shot him a strained but grateful smile. After a moment of tense silence, Hector then coughed uncertainly and shook Eliwood’s hand.

They did three excruciatingly awkward shakes―up, down. Up, down. Up, down. Slow and deliberate, as if they were trying to keep time. After that, they just stared at each other for a long time, neither one quite knowing what to say or whether to let go.

Eliwood’s lips twitched. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face, the corners of his eyes crinkling up.

“I guess I never really introduced myself,” he said, his voice still very quiet, even when compared to the dead silence around them. “I’m Eliwood, from Pherae. Nice to meet you.”

Hector blinked. “Oh. Yeah, I guess you didn’t,” he said. “Uh. I’m Hector of Ostia. Though I guess you know that.”

Chuckling, Eliwood reached up with his free hand to cover his mouth, which was very awkward, seeing as how his “free hand” was still clutching the red-tinged steak knife. “Of course,” he said, lowering the knife again. “It’s nice to meet you, Hector.”

“Uh, yeah. You, too.”

To seal the deal, they shook hands once more―up, down―before letting go. Hector winced when he opened his hand again, pulling at his wound. Slowly turning his palm around, he examined the cut, which was starting to bleed more profusely now. Profusely enough that some of the blood was beginning to drip off, hitting the floor with a quiet  _ splat. _

“…You know,” he said, slowly curling his fingers, “on second thought, maybe this was a bad idea.”

At that, Eliwood laughed, loud and genuine, and Hector’s head snapped up at the unexpected sound. Quickly slapping a hand across his mouth, Eliwood waved him off, shaking his head. “Sorry, sorry―not trying to laugh at you,” he choked out.

“No, it’s fine,” Hector reassured him, and he was surprised to find that he meant it. All the anger and indignation had drained out of him, and he couldn’t find it in himself to take offense, even if Eliwood really was mocking him. “Um… is your hand okay?”

As his giggles subsided, Eliwood nodded rapidly, still pressing his fist against his mouth. “Y-yeah, I’m fine,” he said, wiping his eyes quickly, seemingly unbothered by how close the knife was to his face. “I didn’t cut very deep.”

Frowning contemplatively, Hector glanced at Eliwood’s palm, which was bleeding a bit, but not much, and then back at his. “...I think I cut a little too deep,” he admitted after a moment, tentatively prodding the wound with his thumb.

Immediately, Eliwood’s laughter vanished. The knife landed on the table with a  _ clang, _ and, before Hector could react, Eliwood grabbed his hand gently and leaned in close to study it. “Oh―I think you’re right,” Eliwood muttered as Hector reeled from the sudden close proximity. “This is bleeding pretty badly.”

For the first time in a very long time, Hector felt his face begin to warm. “...’S my fault,” he muttered, scratching the back of his head. “I was too reckless.”

At that, Eliwood paused for a moment, his fingers hovering over Hector’s wound. Then he reached over to the table, grabbing one of the unused napkins from Erik’s spot and dipping it in a pitcher of ice water.

Hector could guess where this was going pretty easily. Still, when Eliwood dabbed at the blood, the napkin shockingly cold, he jumped with a sharp hiss, hand jerking in Eliwood’s grip.

Eliwood gave him a moment to compose himself, then began again; this time, Hector just clenched his teeth and tried not to react. “…Sorry,” Eliwood said eventually as he wiped some of the blood out from between Hector’s fingers.

“S’fine―not your fault it hurts,” Hector muttered.

Eliwood shook his head. “No―for glaring at you,” he said.

Hector glanced down at him sharply, but Eliwood was still applying himself to cleaning Hector’s cut with single-minded determination. “...What do you mean?”

Another careful swipe at the wound itself; Hector flinched, but kept his hand still. “When Erik cut his palm like that,” Eliwood elaborated, “and I was glaring at you… I wasn’t daring you to hurt yourself, or anything like that.” He slowly pressed the cloth against Hector’s cut, applying enough pressure to stop the sluggish flow of blood. “I was just… I thought you were about to make fun of him. For flinching. So I was upset because of that. …I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions.”

As Eliwood bundled the cloth up, avoiding eye contact, Hector stared at the top of his head. “…It’s alright,” he said eventually. “I mean, all you did was glare at me. I jumped to conclusions, too, and I ended up going something pretty dumb, so…”

With a soft hum of acknowledgment, Eliwood grabbed another unused napkin and wrapped it around Hector’s hand, trying to tie the makeshift bandages into place. “Still. It’s at least partially my fault that you did it. So, I’m sorry.”

Hector didn’t contradict him. He just watched as Eliwood tied the napkin in a sloppy knot, then slowly let go. Almost immediately, the knot undid itself and the whole configuration of cloth slid off of Hector’s palm, landing on the ground with a  _ plop. _

“…This isn’t gonna work,” Eliwood said.

With a soft snort, Hector bent down and picked up the first napkin, pressing it against his palm again. “I’ll just keep it like this for a while,” he said, clenching his fist around the ball of fabric.

“Doesn’t that hurt?”

“Mmm… a little.” Hector flexed his fingers. “But not much.”

Eliwood didn’t respond. After a minute, he bent down to grab the other napkin, which he shook off a bit, then carefully pressed against his own palm. Despite his cut being much smaller than Hector’s, he flinched violently at first, instinctively jerking his hand away, and he couldn’t quite stifle a few soft whimpers when he did manage to get the cloth into place.

Hector examined him curiously as he bunched up the fabric and then closed his fingers around it like Hector had, wincing and hissing all the way.

“...Hey, Eliwood?” Hector asked once the napkin was in place and Eliwood’s pained expression had faded into mild discomfort.

Eliwood glanced over at him. “Mmm?”

“Why did you do this?”

For a moment, they just blinked at each other. “Huh?” Eliwood asked eventually.

“You seem way more…”  _ Timid. Anxious. Scared.  _ “…cautious than me and Erik. And this was a pretty dumb idea. So, why did you… you know…?” Hector mimed cutting his palm.

“…Oh.” A few emotions flickered over Eliwood’s face, far too quickly for Hector to parse them, before he simply averted his eyes, looking vaguely bashful. “Um. Well…”

Hector frowned. “…I mean, it can’t  _ just _ be that you were guilty for glaring at me.”

“No―that’s not it,” Eliwood said, shaking his head. “It’s just… well, when  _ you _ did it…”

“When I did it…?”

“…Well, when  _ Erik _ did it,” Eliwood began again, “it just looked… about as stupid as it sounded. It kind of just… confirmed my suspicions that it was a really bad idea. Um, no offense.”

“No, you’re right. It was stupid.” Even if Hector couldn’t honestly say that he regretted it, he could objectively say that it had been stupid.

A small smile crossed Eliwood’s face for a moment, though he still wouldn’t look at Hector. “So, I was just thinking that it was a really stupid idea,” he continued. “But then… well, when you…”

Another very long pause. This time, Hector decided not to push; he just did his best to be patient as Eliwood gathered his thoughts.

“It was… cool,” Eliwood eventually admitted, his cheeks darkening as he stared resolutely at his feet. “When you cut your palm like that. Like it was nothing. I mean, it was still stupid, but… it was also really cool.”

Hector blinked.  _ Cool? _ He certainly hadn’t been called  _ that _ in a while. He looked Eliwood up and down, from the twiddling fingers to the hunched back, while Eliwood religiously avoided eye contact.

This hadn’t just been a passing whim, Hector realized suddenly as Eliwood’s shoes tapped restlessly against the hardwood floor. This had been a very deliberate decision―one that Eliwood was obviously still agonizing over. Not just cutting his hand, or participating in the warrior’s bond―but just the act of  _ being _ here; standing in front of Hector, all alone; weathering a stranger’s scrutiny and even apologizing when he could’ve easily tried to sweep it under the rug.

Hector had cut his hand recklessly, but Eliwood had done it… courageously.

And here he was, nervously paying Hector a compliment as if Hector would suddenly realize that Eliwood wasn’t “cool”, that Eliwood had thought it was a bad idea, and ditch him.

“You were cool, too,” Hector blurted out on impulse. “You―I think you were really cool.”

Judging by the utter surprise on Eliwood’s face, he hadn’t been expecting that response at all. “R-really?” he asked after a moment, shooting Hector an incredulous look.

Hector grinned. “Hell yeah,” he said with all the confidence he could muster, closing the space between them and throwing an arm around Eliwood’s shoulder. “You think I would let just _anyone_ be my blood-brother?”

Eliwood stared at him for a long time. Then, slowly, a huge grin spread across his face, relief and pride and joy practically radiating off of him like heat from a hearth.

“That’s right,” he said warmly. “We took the warrior’s oath, didn’t we? That makes us brothers, doesn’t it?”

“Of course,” Hector responded without hesitation, even though he privately thought that Eliwood was nothing like Uther to him. “In Lycia, ‘when one nation is attacked, all the other nations shall come to its aid’, right? Well, now that means us, too!” He stuck out his right hand, as if to offer another shake, even though it was still curled into a fist to keep the napkin in place. “If you’re in trouble, I’ll come help for sure. And you’ll do the same for me, right?”

Eliwood beamed at him, pressing his own fist softly against Hector’s. “Of course,” he said, his voice fading once more to a soft almost-whisper. “It’s a promise.”


End file.
